


build a house on a mountain

by achilleees



Series: Chuck was injured instead of Herc [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Indulgent, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years following the end of the kaiju war, there is political turmoil and international strife. The world is rebuilt from the ground up, social and economic upheaval disrupting every corner of the globe.</p><p>This isn’t that story.</p><p>This is the story of Chuck Hansen learning to drive a stick-shift, shotgun a joint, cook Thai food, fix a tractor, and cohabitate with the person he’s too stubborn to admit he’s pretty much in love with.</p><p>Fortunately, Raleigh is a patient teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	build a house on a mountain

**Author's Note:**

> This got a lot longer than I planned it to be.
> 
> You really should read ‘riding the wave’ before this one, it follows the progression, I think. But it's not necessary.
> 
> Title from "You and I" by Ingrid Michaelson.
> 
> [Fantastic art](http://tsailanza.deviantart.com/art/Rude-Awakening-396221720) done by Tsailanza.

So they go surfing.

Chuck can’t do much because of his broken arm, so they end up spending most of the day lazing around on the sand. The beach is crowded, with every person in Australia (it seems like) celebrating the victory there, and the constant hum of the detoxifiers in the water keeps them from falling into the illusion that this is a normal vacation, on a normal day, where people have normal lives.

Of course, Raleigh remembers as he watches Chuck unconsciously fidget with the fraying edges of his plaster cast, this is all the “normal” some people have ever known.

Chuck looks up and sees him looking. “Whatcha thinking about, old man?” he asks.

“How itchy your arm must be under that cast,” Raleigh returns smoothly.

Chuck looks down at his cast, reminded, then back up at Raleigh. “Aagh, fuck you, you sick bastard,” he says, scratching furiously at the reddened skin at the edges.

Raleigh takes a nap, and wakes up to find the most elaborate, gorgeous sandcastle he’s ever seen a few feet from his towel. Chuck is carefully constructing the topmost tower, biting his lower lip in concentration, while Mako reinforces the drawbridge over the moat.

It makes Raleigh smile behind his hand, how focused the two of them are. Only two people as neurotic and obsessive as them…

“Looks good,” he comments.

“We know,” Chuck says, not looking away from his masterpiece. “Probably because you weren’t involved.”

“You wound me,” Raleigh deadpans.

“No, seriously.” And now Chuck smirks at him over his shoulder, wicked and devilish and cute as all hell. “You have the fine motor skills of a gorilla wearing mittens.”

Raleigh laughs, head tipping back.

The day passes quickly. They eat fish and chips and catch sand crabs, play Frisbee and fetch with Max. When Raleigh realizes Chuck wrote words on him in sunscreen when he was asleep, he tosses Mako into the ocean because – hell, that’s the sort of thing he expects from Chuck, but _she_ didn’t have to encourage it. Plus Chuck’s not allowed to get his cast wet, and one of them deserves punishment, at least. He’s going to have a tan line in the shape of Chuck’s name on his back for _weeks_.

That’s not a bad thought, he realizes.

When the sunset is just casting the sky into shades of pink, Raleigh finally musters the courage to ask. Chuck’s on his back, eyes closed as he languidly scratches Max behind the ears, and Mako is putting the finishing touches onto their sandcastle.

“So, what are you guys doing now that it’s all over?”

Chuck stiffens a little, and Mako’s head ducks down, lines of tension in her shoulders.

“I think… I need to finish what the Marshal started,” Mako says. “I will stay with the Jaeger program until there is no Jaeger program left.”

Raleigh nods.

“I need to visit my father’s family,” Chuck says. “His father and mother and brother. They should hear it from me.”

“I’m sure they already know,” Raleigh says. The PPDC gave the official story to the media already – everyone in the civilized world knows the names Stacker Pentecost and Herc Hansen.

And, uncomfortably, Raleigh Becket and Mako Mori.

But the PPDC, by their wishes, didn’t release pictures of their faces, so they have a few days before leaked photos prevent them from stepping foot outside without being gawked at. Raleigh appreciates it more than he could ever express.

“Oh yeah, they know.” Chuck works his jaw for a minute. He pauses in his petting for long enough that Max looks up. Then he says, low and rough, “But I still want them to hear it from me.”

There’s not a lot Raleigh can say to that.

 

 

They’re staying at the PPDC headquarters in Sydney, because they don’t have anywhere else to go, which is – kind of sad, now that Raleigh’s thinking about it. Chuck doesn’t want to go to his parents’ old house (it’s still too raw, Raleigh thought, until Mako tells him in an undertone it was partially knocked down a year back by a kaiju) and neither Mako nor Raleigh knows anyone in Australia well enough to stay in their house.

Which means Raleigh’s in a regulation room, cold and cramped and small, and the two of them together barely fit in the bed. It’s a good thing they’re not trying to fuck, because that would be a recipe for disaster, too many limbs and not enough space to put them. But they’re both too tired for that, so they’re just curled up on their sides, Raleigh tucked behind Chuck with one knee slotted between Chuck’s legs and their fingers tangled together.

Raleigh can’t help but be concerned that Chuck’s _letting_ him spoon him, because Chuck’s prickly and sensitive about his masculinity on a good day, to say nothing of a bad one. It must mean Chuck’s more emotionally wrecked than he’s letting on – about his father, his future, his prospects. Raleigh wishes that he could stay another day, but he’s got a flight booked early the next morning back to Washington DC to talk to the president.

They’re all scattering back to their respective home countries. The unity brought on by the kaiju threat is already splintering, each country’s government withdrawing back into its own protective bubble of finite resources and restricted information. Raleigh knows Mako has been talking to the Japanese government already about rebuilding, aid, long-term city structure and engineering. All of those things that no one bothered thinking about, when the threat was banging down their door.

There’s a whole lifetime of reconstruction waiting to happen.

But Raleigh feels old, older than his age warrants. He feels like he’s done his duty to his country. He wonders if that’s selfish.

Couple months ago, he doesn’t think he would have cared if it were.

Suddenly, Chuck elbows him in the gut, and it’s not gentle, either. Chuck never pulls his punches. It’s something Raleigh likes about him, when it doesn’t involve being knuckle-punched in the windpipe for _accidentally_ tripping into his sandcastle. “Stop thinking so goddamn loud, you’re keeping me awake,” Chuck murmurs.

“Sorry,” Raleigh says, wincing. He rubs his sore abdomen.

Chuck twists around to face him, legs tangling so their ankles are hooked around each other’s. “Yeah, whatever. What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Raleigh settles his hand on Chuck’s hip, fingers curling around the smooth curve of bone and muscle. “Just thinking about the future, I guess. _My_ future.”

“Huh. I figured you would get back into construction,” Chuck says, lips curling wickedly. “Lotta walls to build out there.”

“Shut up,” Raleigh says, squeezing Chuck’s hip.

“Hey, maybe if you get any good at it, you can move up to actual buildings,” Chuck says brightly. “I’ll call you up when I need my kitchen renovated.”

Raleigh laughs, rolling them over so he’s on top, braced over Chuck’s body. “You get off on being a little shit, don’t you?”

“I get off on a lot of things, _Raaleigh_ ,” Chuck says, hushed. He drags his fingers through Raleigh’s hair, pulling hard enough to make Raleigh hiss, in a good way. Then Chuck drags his neck down to bite down on it, sucking the lingering taste of salt water off his skin.

So, apparently Raleigh’s done thinking for the night.

 

 

Raleigh’s flight leaves at some insane hour of the morning, early enough that he doesn’t want to wake up Chuck. Mako’s waiting for him at the hangar, though, with a cardboard cup of tea and a scrap of paper.

“My contact information,” she says as she hands them both to him. “And his.”

Raleigh takes it and slips it into his pocket without looking, sipping from the tea. Green tea, he recognizes from her memories. It’s good. “Great. Tell him goodbye for me, alright?"

“Of course,” she says, smiling. “Good luck, wherever you go.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling back. He tugs her into a hug. They fit like puzzle pieces, her head tucking into his neck and his arms enfolding her like the delicate doll she’s definitely not.

He’s drawing away when she looks up to meet him, frowning, but with softness in her eyes. “And Raleigh?" she says. "You don’t have to feel obligated to do anything. You’ve given enough.”

He’s startled for a second, but she’s seen inside his head, she knows how he thinks. They don’t need to be physically in the drift for her to read him. He missed that, after so many years of feeling perpetually misunderstood.

“Thanks, Mako,” he says, touched. “I’ll… remember that.” He starts to walk to the plane, but turns and calls before he boards, “If you’re ever in the US, look me up. Both of you.”

She nods.

When he looks out the window, she’s still there, all the way up until they’re airborne and she’s a still, shrinking speck in the distance.

Raleigh settles back into his seat and closes his eyes. Sleep comes easy, for once.

 

 

For the next few months after that, it seems like Raleigh can’t turn on the television without seeing Chuck’s face. He’s the last of the known rangers, the sole remaining hero in their desperate cause. He’s different now than he used to be – more thoughtful, quieter. He becomes known for his trademark rueful smile and headshake, the way his jaw clenches every time he talks about his father, and for the bulldog that he insists on bringing along to every interview.

Raleigh gets calls, too, obviously. Every news network wants an interview, every politician wants a sound bite, every goddamn ad agency wants his picture plastered on their wares. They must not get tired of hearing no, because Raleigh’s sure as fuck exhausted of saying it.

At first, he sucks it up, living in the tiny loft the PPDC set up for him in DC. For a while, he does what they want him to – gets up in front of Congress in a suit and tie, talks to them about the program, about drifting, about Marshal Pentecost, about Gipsy. But it makes him sick, honestly. Having to schmooze with those fucking fat-cats in their Armani suits who were fully prepared to throw the lower class to the wolves, who didn’t want to spend the money on the periphery, who gave up on the world. And now, now that the program they abandoned saved their selfish asses, they want to make nice and ply him with gifts, as if that will remove the sting of their betrayal.

So he hides. He takes one of the gifts that the government is trying to use to keep him quiet: a small plot of land in Southern Virginia where no one will bother him, far enough from the capitol but a few hour’s drive from the ocean.

He makes a life there.

And if it’s not a _home_ , well, he’s working on it.

 

 

It’s a year and a half later before Raleigh sees Chuck again.

 

 

Raleigh’s on his back under a pickup truck, a flashlight between his teeth and a wrench in his hands, when footsteps echo through the barn. He slants his gaze down just in time to see a pair of brown boots come to a halt in front of him. Then the newcomer drops to his hands and knees and peers at Raleigh through the undercarriage, grinning at him in the dim light. “G’day, mate,” he drawls.

“Jesus!” Raleigh rolls the dolly out so he can jump to his feet, wrapping Chuck in a hug that surprises both of them.

“Well, hey there,” Chuck says around a laugh. “You’re happy to see me.” But he hugs back just as tightly, caressing the back of Raleigh’s neck with the pads of his fingers as he draws away.

When Chuck pulls back, he’s got smears of grease on his army green t-shirt. “Shit, sorry ‘bout that,” Raleigh says.

“Eh, it all comes out in the wash,” Chuck says.

Raleigh raises his eyebrows. “You’ve given too many interviews, man. Everything you say sounds like a sound bite now.”

Chuck snorts. “Hell, whaddaya think I’m doing here? Just tryna get away from it all. Mako says you put up electric fences to keep out the reporters.”

“The deer, actually,” Raleigh corrects with a half-smile. “But it works for that too.”

Chuck turns in a slow circle, taking in their surrounding area. It’s all fields and pastures as far as the eye can see, neat beds of greenery sprouting from the tilled earth.

“So this is you, now,” Chuck says in a quiet, indecipherable voice.

Raleigh feels that old, ugly spite bubbling up inside of him. After the first few tabloid articles came out, alternately praising him for escaping a life built around war and decrying him for abandoning his post, he decided he wouldn’t care what other people said about his choices. If he wanted to turn to manual labor, that was his decision, and they could damn well suck it up.

It works surprisingly well. When the Guardian published an article vocally wondering at his choice to farm for a living, he had read the line “and as we all know, Becket is no stranger to running away,” without flinching.

But Chuck’s opinion matters more. And the idea that he looks down on Raleigh for his choices – that makes the blood boil in his veins.

Chuck, reading something from his face, raises his hands in a show of surrender. “No, it’s just. Never thought of you as anything but a ranger. Or myself, for that matter.” He scratches the back of his head. “Not meant to be an insult, mate.”

“It’s not a bad life,” Raleigh grunts, mollified.

“Yeah, Mako said you’re pretty successful, all things considered. When I heard from her that you were farming, I had to see it for myself.”

Raleigh rubs his face, trying to wipe off the grease. From Chuck’s smirk, it only serves to make the problem worse. “Want the grand tour?” he asks.

Chuck sweeps his arms out in a grand, beckoning gesture. “Show me the goods,” he proclaims.

Raleigh rolls his eyes.

 

 

They walk slowly, but Raleigh notices that Chuck still has a soldier’s swagger in his stride, shoulders squared and every step purposeful. Some things stick with you, he guesses. He takes Chuck on the full tour, from the farm stand where he sells his vegetables to the chicken coops, then around the cultivated fields, up by the berry patch and over to the pond.

Chuck plucks blackberries from the bushes as he walks past, staining his lips and fingers purple. His eyes are bright, eyelashes molten gold, in the dying light of the sun.

If Raleigh wondered, late at night, if he would ever get over Chuck Hansen, this would be his answer.

Not now, not ever.

His only consolation for this sense of desperate, uncontrollable free-falling, is that Chuck is sneaking just as many looks at him as he is at Chuck, and seems just as unashamed.

One such time, Chuck swipes the pad of his thumb over Raleigh’s cheekbone to smear away the grease. “You look good,” he says in a quiet voice, like he’s trying to tell Raleigh something without saying it aloud.

Raleigh nearly stops breathing.

Then Chuck smirks, stripping the gravity from the moment. He chucks Raleigh’s chin. “The whole oil-slicked tank top thing is really doing it for me. You’re like James Dean, only ugly.”

“You’re hilarious,” Raleigh deadpans. “Your sense of humor gets more sophisticated every time I see you.”

“I know, I have a nuanced style,” Chuck says. He frowns. “S’been a while since you’ve seen me, though. Mako visits, and I’ve seen some others around. You’re a hard man to track down.”

Raleigh shrugs. “I like it here. It’s quiet.”

“Just you and the cows,” Chuck says, bumping their shoulders together.

“I maintain that animals are smarter than most people,” Raleigh says, slanting a sidelong glance at Chuck. “Which you of all people should – wait, where is Max, anyway?” A horrible thought occurs to Raleigh. “He’s not…”

Chuck looks confused for a second, then he shakes his head, laughing aloud. “God, no. He’s fine. I left him with that girl at your farm stand who told me where to find you, he’s probably busy breaking hearts.” He starts to say something else, then stops short.

“What is it?” Raleigh asks.

Chuck shrugs one shoulder. “That girl down at the stand – when I told her we were friends, she was surprised. Are you really that much of a loner?”

Raleigh kicks a rock a few feet, watches it bounce. “I don’t know, I guess.”

“She practically begged me to drag you out to have fun.” Chuck shakes his head, voice incredulous. “What kind of loser shut-in are you?”

Now Raleigh scowls, shoulders tightening up. “Leave it.”

Chuck just laughs. “Well, I’m here to fix that.”

Raleigh looks at him, one eyebrow cocked. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“I’ll stick around for a while to keep your lonely ass company,” Chuck grins. “Remind you what it’s like to interact with other humans.”

“How kind of you.” Raleigh says sarcastically, but with the way he can feel himself smiling, there’s no way Chuck buys his act.

This could be good, he thinks.

This could be _something._

 

 

Their wandering takes them to the horse pasture, and Chuck eyes the palomino grazing on the other side of the field with interest. “What’s this beauty’s name?”

“Deianira.” Raleigh says.

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s a name from Greek myth,” Raleigh mumbles, carefully avoiding Chuck’s gaze.

Chuck shoots him a curious look, but Raleigh keeps his face turned away.

He knows it’s not going to work, of course, and it’s only a few minutes later that he has to leave Chuck for a moment to turn off the irrigation in the bok choy patch. When he returns, he catches Chuck messing with his phone, and braces himself.

Sure enough, Chuck looks up, eyes narrowed. “You named your horse after the wife of Hercules?”

“So?”

“So…” Chuck seems lost for words. “I just. You barely even _knew_ him.”

Raleigh puts his fingers to his lips and emits a whistle, sharp and piercing, that echoes in the paddock. Deianira canters over, bumping her head against his shoulder with pure animal affection. He strokes her muzzle. “I thought you might like her, I guess,” he eventually says.

“So what, you got her for me and never told me?” Chuck asks, bewildered.

Raleigh shakes his head. “I didn’t get her for you,” he corrects, blowing gently into her nostrils, making her huff and snort at him. “I just thought you’d like her.”

“Oh.” Chuck says. After a minute, he smiles. “But I don’t know how to ride, you know.”

Raleigh elbows him in the side. “So you’ll learn.”

“Right,” Chuck says. He reaches out and strokes the white, star-shaped spot on her forehead.

But when Raleigh looks over, Chuck’s looking at him with that laser stare of focused intent, causing the breath to hitch in Raleigh’s lungs.

He’d forgotten what it felt like, to be the recipient of that look.

 

 

Raleigh’s not big on the relationship talk. Back when Yancy was alive and he was still a rock-star, he’d done his fair share of sleeping around. After that, he hadn’t had the energy to hold together a real relationship. He just wasn’t comfortable opening up like that, baring his soul when there was so much chaos and instability inside him that he felt it would swallow him up if he let it.

He kind of wishes he and Chuck had said _something_ before parting ways in Sydney, though.

Raleigh doesn’t know where he stands with Chuck. Doesn’t know if Chuck came here expecting sex, friendship, or something in between. Doesn’t know how long he’s planning to stay, or what he’s planning to do while he’s there.

But worst of all, Raleigh doesn’t even know how to ask.

 

 

He makes Chuck help him with farm work for the rest of the day. Nothing strenuous or complex, just a bit of weeding and picking tomatoes. They swing by and pick up Max before the farm stand closes for the day, formally introducing Chuck to a few of his workers, and it isn’t until relatively late that night that they make it back to Raleigh’s house.

Raleigh opens the refrigerator door and digs around, a little embarrassed at the condiment-to-real-food ratio in his fridge. “I haven’t gone shopping in a while,” he says.

“I think that excuse works better when you aren’t a vegetable farmer,” Chuck teases as he hoists himself up onto the counter. He’s smiling and swinging his legs in the empty air, and Raleigh looks away because the image is stupid cute and he doesn’t really know how to respond to it.

He declines to respond, just pulls out a few takeout containers of leftover Indian food. “We can go shopping tomorrow,” he says.

They eat straight out of the containers, Chuck sitting up on the counter and Raleigh leaning against it next to him, Chuck’s leg pressed up against his side. It’s silent for the most part until Chuck asks, “What is this, anyway?”

Raleigh swallows his mouthful. “Uhh, chicken vindaloo, lamb saag, something with paneer in tomato sauce, and some kind of cauliflower-potato thing.”

“You like Indian?” Chuck asks.

“Yeah, it’s growing on me,” Raleigh nods. “But I mostly like this place because it delivers late.”

“So what’s your favorite type of food?” Chuck asks, nudging him with the toe of his boot.

Raleigh scratches his cheek. “I like Italian, I guess? And Thai, Yancy got me hooked on that. I never had sushi, but Mako’s mom used to make it for her and it was good…” he trails off, shaking his head. “I forget sometimes that that’s weird.”

“That’s because _you’re_ weird,” Chuck says helpfully.

Raleigh shoots him a flat look.

“But I follow.” Chuck rubs the spot behind Raleigh’s ear with the pad of his thumb for a second, just enough to make Raleigh’s mouth go a little dry.

It’s a minute later, when Raleigh’s cleaning up after their meal, that he realizes it – the way Chuck shows his affection, especially right after he’s been teasing so he wants to soften the blow. The petting.

He treats Raleigh like a dog.

It should be insulting, but it’s just so _Chuck_.

He laughs aloud at the realization, and Chuck looks over in tacit curiosity. Raleigh waves him off. If he mentioned it, Chuck might stop, and Raleigh… Raleigh wants to encourage affection from Chuck, even as bizarre and nonfunctional as it is. “It’s nothing. I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to bed, but you can stay up if you want.”

He expects Chuck to stay up because it’s noon in Sydney and his sleep schedule’s probably fucked all to hell, but Chuck trails after him up the stairs, his army-issued duffel slung over his back. It serves to remind Raleigh that Chuck was raised from the cradle by a military officer, and learned from a young age to sleep wherever and whenever it was convenient.

Raleigh pauses outside a nondescript white door. “So this is the guest room.” He bites his lip. Normally, Raleigh would like to think he’s pretty brave, but throwing yourself into the line of fire is such a different brand of courage than handing your heart away on a silver platter. “If you’d like…”

Chuck’s quiet laugh silences him. “Raleigh,” Chuck whispers. Then, again, closer now, warm breath against his lips – “ _Raleigh_.” And then Chuck kisses him, pinning him to the wall with his hands on Raleigh’s shoulders.

The duffel bag drops to the ground with a thud.

Raleigh melts against the wall, kissing back with his hands threading through Chuck’s hair.

Chuck, Raleigh thinks somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, spent so long developing the other sort of courage that he never learned to fear heartbreak.

Or maybe Chuck just knows that some things are worth the risk.

 

 

When Raleigh rolls out of the bed at six the next morning, he steps on a clasp of Chuck’s bag with his bare foot and spends the next thirty seconds hopping around biting his hand to muffle his curses.

Chuck doesn’t even stir.

Raleigh goes downstairs and grabs a banana and a protein bar for breakfast, nearly scalding himself when he spills hot water all over the counter in his attempt to make tea. He settles for a cup of milk instead.

When he gets back upstairs, sunlight is streaming through the window in stripes over Chuck’s bare back, the tips of his hair shining gold. He’s on his stomach, head resting on his folded arms, and – _damn_ , that’s a hard sight to walk away from.

“Chuck,” Raleigh says, ruffling his hair. “Hey, man. I’m going to work, okay? Come find me when you get up.”

“Go f’ck a goat,” Chuck mumbles, and rolls over, mashing his face into the pillow.

So apparently Chuck’s not a morning person. Good to know. It doesn’t make it any easier to leave, though. Now Raleigh wants to wake him up with his mouth low on Chuck’s belly, bring him to a state of mindless pleasure so he wakes up as content as Raleigh feels.

He tears himself away with some effort, vowing that some morning, sometime soon, he’ll make the time.

 

 

Chuck finds him in the tomato patch late in the morning. Really, Max finds him first, barreling through the rows with little regard to the chaos he’s leaving in his wake. Raleigh hears Chuck before he sees him, laughing from deep in his chest.

“Your dog is ruining my livelihood,” Raleigh calls. He scratches Max under the chin, endeared at the frantic wagging of his stumpy tail.

Chuck strolls over, eating from a handful of cherry tomatoes he picked along the way. “That’s rough, innit?”

“I sense your sincere repentance,” Raleigh says in a monotone.

“Ya know me so well,” Chuck says, grinning with his dimples in full force. His hair is wet from showering, and he’s wearing Raleigh’s pants, belted tightly over his lean hips. Raleigh’s still waiting for the moment when the sight of Chuck’s smile doesn’t steal his breath away.

This isn’t it.

“Hey, I was thinking,” Raleigh says, standing up from his crouch.

Chuck’s eyes go wide. “Really? Wow, mate, getting the day off to a good start!”

“Ha ha.” Raleigh rolls his eyes. “If you wanted to borrow my truck to drive around, find shit to do, that’d be fine.”

“Oh.” Chuck says, mildly taken-aback. “Yeah, alright. Could be good.”

“But,” Raleigh says, a challenge in his voice, “it’s a stick-shift.”

Chuck scoffs. “I piloted a Jaeger for six years. How hard can a manual transmission be?”

 

 

“Fuck!” Chuck shouts for the eighth time as the truck stalls with a violent jerk, sending both their heads slamming back into the headrests.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Hansen, calm the fuck down,” Raleigh says through gritted teeth. “Stop freaking out.”

“Yeah, you’re really helping,” Chuck sneers. “Bloody great advice there. Got any more nuggets of wisdom for me?”

Raleigh sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly, struggling to keep from getting angry. “You need to ease up on the clutch slowly, alright? Feel for it.”

The truck lurches forward and jerks to a halt. Chuck, teeth gnashing, twists the key off and then on.

“Wait, hang on –” Raleigh starts, but Chuck tries again before he can say anything else.

He stalls again.

Chuck gives a guttural noise of anger, deep and low in his chest. Raleigh would be amused, but it’s actually kind of terrifying. He senses that if he tried to touch Chuck right now, he’d be asking to get bitten.

Raleigh sighs, rubbing the back of his head where it cracked against the headrest. “Ok, can we try something different?”

“I can do this,” Chuck insists, whipping his head around to glare at Raleigh.

Raleigh holds up his hands in protest. “No, I know. We’re just gonna try something different. Close your eyes.”

Chuck, with a wary look, closes his eyes.

Raleigh reaches over and cups the back of Chuck’s neck in his hand, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles. “Slow, okay? Slowly ease up on the clutch. Feel the truck, feel her move. When it catches, you’ll know. This baby’s gonna _purr_ for you.” His voice dips low, husky. “She’s a lady, you gotta treat her like one. Ease up on the clutch, feel her responses. When she hums, then you give her some gas. But you’ll feel it. She’ll let you know.”

Chuck slides his foot, so gradually it’s almost imperceptible, off the clutch. About halfway up, the vibrations of the truck change to a purr as the clutch catches.

“Now give it to her,” Raleigh whispers.

When Chuck presses on the gas, the truck creeps forward, smooth as silk.

“Feel that? That power? Feel the control you’ve got nestled in the palm of your hand?” Raleigh takes his hand off Chuck’s neck and places it over Chuck’s, weaving their fingers together so they’re molded over the gearshift together.

Chuck steps on the clutch, and Raleigh uses his grip on Chuck’s hand to shifts gears into second. The truck rumbles under them like a pleased jungle cat.

“You gotta feel it. She’s like a Jaeger, she’s got her own tells. You’ll learn it.” Raleigh leans over the center console, nipping Chuck’s earlobe with just a hint of teeth. “She’s purring for you.”

Chuck shivers.

 

 

Raleigh leaves Chuck to practice on his own and doesn’t see him for another six hours, which is standard fare for Chuck when he’s learning a new skill, he assumes.

Still, he’s curious when he gets back that evening and Chuck’s not there, just Max curled up on the rug. He’s just reaching for the phone to call Chuck when he hears the telltale rumble of his truck outside, and he looks out the front window to see Chuck emerge with plastic bags in hand.

Chuck sets the bags on the counter when he comes in, nods to Raleigh, and then heads back for the truck. Raleigh thinks about helping him unload, but figures he’d ask if he wanted the help, and watches with a smile as Chuck unpacks about a zillion dog toys and supplies, pouring out a bowl of food for the eagerly waiting Max. Then there’s a dog bed, squeaky toys, rubber and rawhide bones, and other assorted items.

“I never had a pet,” Raleigh comments. “Yancy had a dog, but it was his job to take care of it.”

“Yeah, before Dad would buy Max, I had to swear to be responsible for him.” Raleigh’s impressed at how even Chuck’s voice is when he talks about his father. It was years before he could mention Yancy’s name without his throat tightening up.

“You’re good at it,” Raleigh remarks.

“Course I am. I take care of my handsome little man,” Chuck says to Max, rubbing behind his ears. “Speaking of which, I picked up dinner.”

It takes Raleigh a few seconds to realize that Chuck effectively called him ‘his handsome little man.’

He punches Chuck in the back of the head, but Chuck just laughs. Then Raleigh opens the brown paper bag and finds plastic containers of sushi inside.

It’s a good thing Chuck’s still cooing over Max, because Raleigh can’t stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

 

 

Chuck has this thing for being naked when Raleigh’s fully clothed. Raleigh doesn’t know what it is, feels like he could probably guess if he really tried to psychoanalyze it, but it’s fucking hot. It wasn’t a kink of his before, but Chuck could probably turn anything into a kink for him with a pout of his pretty lips and a breathy, “c’mon, _Ra_ leigh, do it for me.”

This time, he’s got Chuck tied to the headboard with his belt, wrists red and raw as he writhes against the bonds. He’s fucking Chuck in short, staccato thrusts. The fabric of his hastily undone jeans is probably chafing something awful against the bare skin of Chuck’s thighs, but he’s making this keening sound in the back of his throat that tells Raleigh how much he loves it.

“Is this all you got?” Chuck pants, hips rolling up to meet him. “Weak shit, Raleigh. I expect – ah, _fuck_ – better from you.”

Raleigh, as always, gets sucked in by Chuck’s transparent manipulative bullshit, even though he knows exactly what Chuck’s trying to do. He pulls his hips back and slams in again, hard and fast.

Chuck tosses his head back. “Weak,” he chokes out.

It’s cute, and kind of insulting, how Chuck thinks he’s in complete control when Raleigh’s got him naked and bound beneath him. “Beg for me,” he growls, slowing his pace.

“Not on your life,” Chuck says, breathy but decisive. His fingers clutch at empty air, but his lips stay tightly shut.

“Beg,” Raleigh repeats, “fucking _beg_ , or I won’t let you come.” He slows down more, so his cock drags torturously over Chuck’s prostate.

Chuck looks at him through lowered lashes, eyes glassy-bright. “I reckon you can put a dent in the wall by your headboard, yeah?” he says, a challenge in his voice. “I wanna see you do it.”

Raleigh works his jaw. He’s not going to break.

Chuck knows he’s going to win, though, a crooked smirk curling his lips. “C’mon, babe, I know you can, now fucking _prove_ it.”

Raleigh is so unbelievably easy for this little brat.

He gives up on delaying and renews his efforts. Raleigh fucks into him again, and again, each thrust harder than the last, his pace brutal. When he curls his hand around Chuck’s cock and jacks it roughly, it’s only a handful of seconds before Chuck arches and comes with a sharp cry, dragging Raleigh after him.

“You’re such a little shit,” Raleigh slurs after a minute of recovery, undoing the belt to release Chuck’s wrists.

“Yeah, whatever,” Chuck yawns. He uses Raleigh’s t-shirt to clean off his chest. “Oh, hey, grab me some good beer next time you’re out, right? I hate that pisswater shite you’ve got on hand.” And with that, he rolls over and goes to sleep.

Raleigh’s left pleasantly stunned.

Before Chuck, he wouldn’t have said he was waiting for some smartassed punk to come in and boss him around inside his own house, but now –

Well, he can think of worse things.

 

 

The next day starts pretty much the same way. Raleigh halfheartedly tries to wake up Chuck and gets cursed at until he leaves. This time he takes Max with him, leaving a note for Chuck so he doesn’t freak out. Chuck finds him mulching Swiss Chard, and Raleigh sends him off to learn how to run the tractor from one of his other workers.

It’s nearing sunset when their paths cross again, as Raleigh is unloading thirty baskets of zucchini into the cooler right as Chuck and Stephen return to park the tractor in the shed. “Success?” Raleigh asks.

“Oh yeah, he’s a natural. You need anything else today?” Stephen asks.

“I think Cali and Evan finished packing the van for market, so you’re good.”

Stephen nods. “Sweet.” He leaves for a moment, and returns a second later with Evan and Cali in tow. “Hey chief, we’re going out to the bonfire. Coming?” He asks it as an afterthought, already knowing what the answer will be.

As always, Raleigh shakes his head. “Not this time, thanks.”

“Where are they going?” Chuck looks at Raleigh as the three workers head out, head cocked to the side.

Raleigh mimes taking a drag from a joint.

Chuck’s eyes light up. “I’ve never –” he starts, then looks down, shuffling his feet. “But we don’t have to…”

Raleigh sighs. Then he turns to his workers. “Hey, wait up,” he calls after them.

Chuck’s shy, pleased smile is worth the mockery and cheers, he reminds himself.

 

 

His workers came prepared, so it’s the work of a few seconds before they’re passing two lit joints around in a circle, the light from the bonfire flickering across their faces.

Chuck watches with laser-like focus when it gets to Raleigh, eyes fixed on his hands, and then his lips, as he takes the joint. Raleigh brings it to his lips and takes in a deep drag, holding it in his lungs for a five-count before releasing it in a steady stream. He doesn’t cough, but his eyes water. Damn, it’s been a while.

Anyone who didn’t know Chuck very well probably wouldn’t be able to see the nervousness in his manner, but Raleigh can read the furrow between Chuck’s brow, and knows that this is completely alien to the ranger. “Breathe deep and hold it in your lungs. It’s fine to cough, it means you did it right.”

Chuck brings the joint halfway to his lips, then hesitates. He looks up at Raleigh. He probably wouldn’t want to know how uncertain he looks, and he’d never admit it even if he were told.

“Gimme that,” Raleigh says, taking pity on the poor kid. He takes the joint back and sucks in a deep drag, then curls his fingers over his mouth in a tube shape and leans in.

Chuck seems confused until Raleigh is breathing the smoke through the circle of his hand into his mouth. Then, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, he parts his lips and breathes in the smoke. He holds it in his lungs for exactly five seconds, then starts coughing into his hand, wet and rough, from deep down in his chest.

“S’good, you’re doing good,” Raleigh murmurs.

“More,” Chuck rasps. “I wanna try again.”

“Of course you do,” Raleigh mutters, because that’s Chuck for you. He takes another drag.

He feeds Chuck smoke through the circle of his fingers another three times. The high starts to sink in, leaving his head fuzzy and a dumb smile on his lips, and he wonders why he doesn’t do this more often. But he didn’t have Chuck here those other times, Chuck’s lips pressed against his hand like a hot brand, Chuck melting against his side like they were molded for each other.

“Hey.” He nudges Chuck with his elbow. “Is it working?”

“Mm,” Chuck hums, smiling up at him muzzily.

Oh yeah, it’s working.

“They shoulda pumped us full of grass when we fought the kaiju,” Chuck says, eyes slipping closed. “Woulda made it so much easier to face down those fuckers.”

Raleigh shrugs, the motion stilted from Chuck’s head resting on his shoulder. “Some people get paranoid. That would be fucking _terrible_.”

“Thas true,” Chuck says. “And I reckon my reflexes wouldn’t be as fast.”

Raleigh, curious, pinches Chuck’s thigh. It’s a full five seconds later before Chuck punches him in reply.

“Yep,” Raleigh says. “You should never fight stoned.”

Chuck tips his head back, smirking at him upside-down. “I wager I’d be a damn good stoned construction worker, though. I could build circles around you.”

“You’re never gonna let go of that, are you,” Raleigh groans.

“It was a fail wall, Raleigh,” Chuck says in a patient voice. “You spent five years building a fail wall. Of course you deserve mockery.”

“If I weren’t high right now, I’d punch you in the face.”

Chuck yawns. “If I weren’t high, I’d be up for that.”

“Masochist,” Raleigh accuses.

“You’re the one who wanted to fuck my throat, right,” Chuck says.

Raleigh swallows.

“I’m into it,” Chuck says like it’s nothing. Then, before Raleigh can formulate a reply, continues with, “Mooore,” as he paws at Raleigh’s arm.

Raleigh inhales another long drag and cups his hand over his mouth.

“No, dude, y’lose too much smoke that way,” Chuck says, craning his neck up. “Here.” Then he knocks Raleigh’s hand aside, presses his mouth against Raleigh’s and sucks the smoke from his slack lips.

Raleigh’s employees whoop and catcall, but he tunes them out, enthralled at the flex of Chuck’s lips against his. They’re only touching at the mouth and shoulders, but it feels like those places are on fire, and he’s sensitive to every minute shift of muscle under Chuck’s thin clothes.

“Jesus Christ,” Chuck murmurs against his lips as they pull apart. “We gotta fuck like this, mate.”

Raleigh imagines this – the warm lazy glide of Chuck’s hand over his cock, the greedy kisses he would drink from Chuck’s mouth, the heightened focus so all he would be able to concentrate on would be the sensuous slide of Chuck’s skin against his.

He stands abruptly. “We’re leaving,” he tells his workers, dragging a surprised Chuck away with him with a hand on his collar.

This time, he doesn’t even notice the mockery and cheers. All he hears, sees, knows, is Chuck.

 

 

Days turn into weeks turn into months, and Raleigh waits to settle into a routine, but Chuck seems determined to keep things interesting by constantly changing his habits. Just when Raleigh’s getting used to being found by a freshly-showered Chuck in the morning, Chuck slips into his shower that night and shampoos Raleigh’s hair before fucking him stupid against the wall. And just as he’s convinced Chuck is physically incapable of rising before noon, he’s greeted by the gently wafting scent of black tea and oatmeal in the morning when he comes downstairs.

And just when he’s becoming accustomed to having takeout waiting for him at home every evening, Chuck changes things up again.

“It’s nothing special,” Chuck says, but he’s noticeably avoiding Raleigh’s gaze. “Just spaghetti and meatballs.”

Raleigh takes a spoonful of sauce from the pot simmering on the stove. “Did you make this yourself?”

“So?”

Raleigh tastes the sauce, his eyebrows shooting up. “It’s good,” he says, unable to mask the tone of surprise in time. “I had it in my mind that you didn’t know how to cook.”

“Just because you’re bloody useless doesn’t mean I’m equally nonfunctional,” Chuck scowls, affronted (as always) at the mere suggestion that he’s not the best at everything he does. “Dad was always busy when I was a teenager, so… Whatever, don’t eat it if you don’t want. There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge.” He stomps away.

“It’s good,” Raleigh says again, firmer this time. “And I’m hungry, so stop bitching and feed me.”

Chuck doesn’t seem to believe him until Raleigh eats through three helpings. Then he gets a smile like the sunrise, slow and spreading across his whole face.

After that, Chuck cooks, shops, and does the mechanical work, and Raleigh washes the dishes, cleans the house, and pays the bills.

They do the laundry together.

 

 

Raleigh loves that Chuck seems to have settled permanently into his house, but in the back of his mind, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Chuck’s never given any mention of leaving, but he also hasn’t indicated how long he’s planning to stay. And Max’s toys and supplies litter the living room floor, but Raleigh can’t help but notice Chuck’s never once called his place home.

So Raleigh, one night after one too many beers, finally asks, “Why are you here, Chuck?”

And Chuck pauses for a worryingly long time before answering, “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Something about that answer leaves Raleigh with a cold feeling in his chest. It takes him a few minutes to pinpoint what, but when he does, it’s all he can think about.

If he’s here because he’s got nowhere else to go, it implies he’ll leave as soon as there _is_ somewhere else. Sure, he’s here for now, because he doesn’t know who he is or wants to be. But whenever he figures it out, he’ll just… leave, without another thought.

Raleigh wants Chuck to find his purpose. He wants Chuck to make a life he’s satisfied with.

But he’s scared as fuck for that day to come.

 

 

He’s happy, is the thing.

Raleigh’s _happy_.

It’s been a while.

 

 

“Have you seen my keys?” Raleigh asks, rifling through the pockets of each jacket on the coat rack in turn.

“Here,” Chuck says, tossing him the aforementioned keys. He hands Raleigh a travel mug of tea as he jogs past.

“Thanks,” Raleigh says, distracted. “Shit, did I forget to charge –”

Chuck passes him his phone. “I plugged it in last night, you useless bludger. C’mere.” He fixes Raleigh’s collar, taking a minute to rub behind his ear with his thumb before pushing Raleigh away.

“Great. See you later,” Raleigh says, shooting him a half smile before he’s gone.

 

 

The next time he sees Chuck, he finds him squinting at the cell phone he holds in one hand, furiously whisking an unidentifiable brown sauce with his other. He’s got the bowl trapped against his body with his elbow, but it keeps slipping incrementally, and Raleigh’s kind of sadistically looking forward to it falling off the counter and dumping out all over his boots.

It almost happens, but Chuck catches it in time, splashing brown goop all over his shirt. He scowls down at it like it personally offended him, and Raleigh has to laugh. Chuck whips around, glaring. “You come in just to make fun of me?”

Raleigh gives an easy smile. “Nah, I need to use the phone.”

Chuck sets down his cell phone, using his hand to hold the bowl for leverage. “What’s up?”

Raleigh shrugs, moving towards the cordless phone. “Tractor’s shot, I need to call the mechanic.”

Chuck hums his understanding. “Gas or diesel?”

“Gas,” Raleigh says after a minute, more occupied with finding the mechanic’s name on his scrawled list of important numbers.

“Starter turning?”

“Yeah…” Raleigh looks up.

“Dry or wet spark plugs?”

Now Raleigh stares. “You lost me.”

Chuck shrugs. “If you’ve got dry plugs, could be a clogged carburetor.” He wipes his hands off on a dishtowel. “Where’s your tool kit?”

“In the barn,” Raleigh says, kind of stunned.

Chuck walks out the door.

Raleigh hangs up the phone and follows.

 

 

He leaves Chuck tinkering with the tractor and goes off to do his tasks for the day. When the sun’s at its highest point in the sky, baking down on them all, he goes back to the house to take a nap through the hottest hours of the day.

He’s woken only a few minutes later by a heavy weight landing on his sternum, and when he opens his eyes, he gives an involuntarily shout at the wrinkly smile he’s greeted with. Max gleefully slobbers all over his face, while Chuck laughs from the doorway, absently tossing a basketball from hand to hand.

“Stop siccing your dog on me when you want me awake,” Raleigh grumbles, rubbing at his face with his shirtsleeve.

Chuck whistles for Max, who trots over and sinks down next to his feet. “But it’s so damn effective. Wanna play strip HORSE?”

“No,” Raleigh says.

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t be that guy,” Chuck cajoles.

Raleigh cocks an eyebrow. “What guy? The guy who knows better than to play games with overly competitive freakjobs?”

“You’re just too sensitive,” Chuck says dismissively.

“You punched me in the face.”

“You were cheating!” Chuck says, unrepentant.

“That game _encourages_ cheating, I told you that when I was teaching you the rules.” Raleigh lifts a hand to halt Chuck’s next slew of protests. “Regardless. Uninterested.”

Chuck sets down the basketball and ambles over, throwing his leg over Raleigh’s prone body to straddle his waist. He slots his ass into the cradle of Raleigh’s legs, leaning in to whisper feather-light against his lips, “Or you’re just scared."

“How dumb do you think I am?” Raleigh rolls his eyes. He lies back with his hands behind his head, the very picture of nonchalance. “I’m not falling for it.”

Chuck smirks, walking his fingers up Raleigh’s chest. “I guess I’ll have to tell your workers you’re too much of a damn chickenshit to play with us.”

Raleigh’s eyes narrow.

“Wuss,” Chuck says in an exhale, nearly inaudible. His eyes _gleam_.

“ _Fine_ , you obnoxious little shit.” Raleigh stands, anchoring his hands under Chuck’s ass to lift him.

Chuck’s legs wrap instinctively around his waist, arms twining around his neck. It’s a position they’ve been in before, though under different circumstances. Chuck is compact muscle all over, but Raleigh hasn’t been slacking on his fitness since he left the PPDC, and he can pretty easily heft Chuck up, which they found out in the shower last week.

Chuck squirms. “Let me go, I wanna go kick your ass in HORSE. You can fuck me like this later.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Raleigh breathes in his ear.

“I’m counting on it,” Chuck shoots back.

Chuck wins at HORSE, but only because Raleigh had fewer articles of clothing to remove.

The heated, half-lidded look he gets from Chuck when he slips off his pants to reveal nothing underneath almost makes the relentless shit-talking worth it.

 

 

He forgets about the tractor thing until later that night, distracted by bean-picking and other things. It comes to him at dinner. “I didn’t know you knew so much about tractor mechanics,” he says, around a mouthful of some of the best Thai peanut noodles he’s ever had.

Chuck looks up from his own plate and says, “I’ve been reading up on it, but I don’t know as much about tractors as cars.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I wanted to know why a manual transmission works the way it does, and I reckon my interest sparked from there.” He nods to his computer. “There’s this gorgeous classic car for sale about an hour north of here, a 1978 Corvette. It would take some work, but I could fix it up. I’ve been thinking about buying it. Any thoughts?”

Raleigh shrugs. “It’s your choice.”

He sees the frown develop on Chuck’s face, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out why he’s so pissed.

 

 

The anger arrives like an oncoming storm. Raleigh barely gets a chance to batten down the hatches before Chuck is stomping through the house like the floorboards deserve punishment for some wrongdoing, eyes flashing whenever Raleigh talks to him.

Raleigh puts up with it as patiently as he can, because he knows Chuck is volatile but not _unreasonable_ , and there must be some reason for him to be acting the way he does. But when Evan comes to him and tells him in an undertone that Chuck made Cali cry that morning, he knows he needs to do something about it.

He finds Chuck in the barn, elbow-deep under the hood of the white Ford van. He coughs to announce his presence, and Chuck whips around with a scowl. “What do you want?”

“Just thought maybe we should talk,” Raleigh says, aiming for mild and unassuming.

“About what?” Chucks grunts, looking back down into the engine.

Raleigh’s been thinking a lot, and he can only see one reason Chuck would be so abruptly angry. Only one thing that could make him so unhappy to be here, all of a sudden.

“Is this what you want from your life?” he asks.

Chuck turns again, the irritation on his face wiped away momentarily by sheer surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Raleigh shrugs. “You know, hanging out in my house, part-time farming. Do you want more?”

Chuck grabs a rag and wipes his hands off on it, more for the purpose of fidgeting than any desire to be clean, Raleigh thinks. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“No!” Raleigh says. “I just… don’t want you to take a look at your life and regret what you see.”

“Raleigh,” Chuck says, rubbing the back of his neck. He won’t look at Raleigh. “There’s nothing forcing me to stay here. I’m here by choice. If I wanted to, I could leave.”

Raleigh stares at him, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. That really doesn’t help his peace of mind, neither the words, nor the way he couldn’t even bear to meet Raleigh’s eyes while he delivered them.

If Chuck wanted to, he could leave.

Whenever Chuck wants to…

“Look, never mind. Forget it. Just don’t worry about it, right?” Chuck sighs. “I gotta go pick up some coolant from the auto shop. See you later, yeah?”

And Raleigh’s left watching him go.

 

 

Fortunately for the state of Raleigh’s mental health, he follows his first instinct, which is to call Mako. She’s a good listener, and though it takes him nearly a half-hour to get out the whole story, she doesn’t say a word the entire time. Finally, when he’s finished, she lets out a long breath and asks, “He said that?”

“Yeah.” He worries the hem of his shirt between his fingertips.

“No, Raleigh,” she says. “Think about it. He said that.”

“Yeah,” Raleigh says, confused. “He could _leave_ , if he wants to.”

“No, Raleigh,” she repeats, gently exasperated. “He could leave, if he _wanted_ to. If he hasn’t left, it’s because he doesn’t want to.”

Raleigh processes this for a minute. He hasn’t left yet. Right.

No.

He hasn’t _left,_ period.

He groans, sweeps a hand over his face. Fuck. “So what do I do?”

Mako’s smile is evident in her voice. “Give him a clear indication that you want him to stay.”

 

 

A clear indication.

It’s so obvious, now.

It’s the car.

Duh.

Chuck asked Raleigh about the Corvette because he wanted Raleigh to encourage him to buy it. Buying himself a car would be a commitment. It would be a clear, flashing, neon fucking sign that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

And Raleigh pretty much said he didn’t care.

What an idiot.

Fortunately, this is a pretty easy one to fix.

 

 

He gets the call on the way home, but he doesn’t manage to dig his phone out of his back pocket until it’s already gone to voicemail. He calls his mailbox and listens to the message.

It’s Chuck, and he’s spitting mad. “Some asshole bought my car!” he cries out. “That was _my fucking car_. God dammit. Call me back. I’m gonna have to find that car somewhere else, and there are only like, six of them in the whole goddamn US. Do you know how much it’s going to cost to ship that thing from Nebraska? Fuck. Fucking fucker. Call me back.”

Raleigh’s grinning the whole way home.

Chuck was gonna buy it anyway.

Chuck was gonna buy the car anyway, even with as mad as he was at Raleigh, even with his uncertainty about their future, about how much Raleigh cared about him staying.

Raleigh reminds himself, hopefully for the last time, that Chuck isn’t scared to take risks.

It’s a good way to be. Raleigh’s gonna start trying harder, on that front.

When he pulls into the driveway, he finds Chuck working off his anger by chopping wood, each swing of the axe flowing through his arms easy and smooth. Raleigh takes a minute to watch, then he honks the horn and stands up, out of the car.

Chuck turns, and all the tension and anger on his face melts away, leaving him surprised and wide-eyed and very young, all of a sudden. He drops the axe and walks forward, hand outstretched like he’s reaching for something. But he pauses with his fingers hovering over the hood as if afraid to close that final gap.

“What is this?” he asks, uncharacteristically timid.

Raleigh presses his fingertips down on the back of Chuck’s hand, closing the distance for him. “It’s your car,” he says, smiling at the way Chuck’s whole body twitches when he finally makes contact.

“You’re the asshole who bought her?” Chuck asks, disbelieving.

“I am,” Raleigh says. “And, uh…” He rubs the back of his head.

Chuck’s not the only one here bad at communicating.

“If you ever do decide to leave, she’ll be here,” he mumbles eventually. “So you can leave, if you want. It’s your choice. But – she’ll be here. Waiting.”

He thinks it’s a pretty big victory when Chuck actually looks away from the car for the moment it takes to smile at him, big and bright.

Thank god for Mako, right?

 

 

Epilogue

 

_Four months later_

“Morning, sweetheart,” Chuck says, dropping a kiss on Raleigh’s head as he walks by. Raleigh thinks that it’s suspiciously romantic, for him, and then notices that Chuck stole his mug of tea when he was distracted.

“Jerk,” he yawns. “Where you headed today?”

Chuck settles against the counter, sipping from Raleigh’s mug. “Lee Davenport’s got a screwy suspension, I think he fucked it up by bending it out of place with a car jack when he was changing a tire. Gonna take a look at that.”

Raleigh nods. “Alright. Have fun.”

“Right, yeah. Have fun telling that redneck it’s his own damn fault his car’s fucked up.” Chuck snorts. He returns Raleigh’s mug, now half-empty, and rubs at the spot behind his ear with his thumb. “See you when I get home,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Raleigh smiles, sipping from his tea.

 _Home_.

He’s never gonna get tired of hearing that word in Chuck’s voice.


End file.
